


suddenly there's sunlight all around me

by thesarcasticone



Series: all i've ever known [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Second Part of a Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 14:02:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21037394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesarcasticone/pseuds/thesarcasticone
Summary: They announced her father's name before the court and before the King with a fanfare which meant to impress and honor, yet only managed to unease Brienne even further. Brienne gulped as she saw her father give an unwavering bow; knowing she would have to give her own curtsey right after him.Or: Brienne and Selwyn are forced to visit King's Landing where the heat is threatening to become Brienne's new sworn enemy, while she tries and not ridducle herself any further; all while catching a glimpse of the glistening white armour of the Kingsgaurd Knights.





	suddenly there's sunlight all around me

**Author's Note:**

> First things first: I want to thank every single one of you who read, left kudos or left a comment on my first little one-shot. I am happy my little odd idea generated interest in some of you. It was a nice 'welcome back' to recieve after so many years without posting. 
> 
> So, here's the second part of my ongoing series in which Jaime and Brienne meet when they are both younger. 
> 
> I made this a series because when I first got hit with the initial scene, I never could plan the entire story out the way I wanted, but just got hit with more scenes of the two of them meeting throughout the years (sometimes not even in a chronological order). 
> 
> I did end up writing them in chronological order, but I had always thought of them as a series of scenes, and thus decided to post them as a series. 
> 
> So, that being said, this one takes place 3 years after their last small, but brief encounter. 
> 
> All mistakes are mine, and mine alone.

Her dressed itched; the laces adorning the delicate embroidery seemed to further mock her as they rubbed against her skin. Pale and not used to such finery, it was slowly becoming tainted with a red blotch; an occurrence which had her Septa meticulously whipping Brienne's hand away from her neck every time she tried to scratch or gently soothe the irritating sensation.

“Stop it, child. It’s bad enough you've already wrecked your delicate braid while playing this morning; stop trying to further your disadvantages.”

Brienne obliged with dutifulness; but the contraption did itch and there was only so much discomfort she could tolerate. 

No one had ever told her the capital would be as hot as it was grand. She would have fought Septa Roelle even further for her right to not wear a dress to court. 

“I’m as tall as any boy! They will not know the difference! I will not embarrass myself if they do not know who I am.” She had gathered the courage to argue; her voice only having trembled at the start of her plea, a kind reminder of her still young age. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lady Brienne. Your father only has but one child left; and both he and his heir have been promptly summoned to court. People expect you to be there, standing proudly and diligently by your father’s side. A dress is mandatory for court. There is only so much I can do for you, child.”

Alas, she hadn’t pressed the issue again. Years of having the same argument made Brienne acutely aware of what the outcome would be. So a dress had been commissioned for the occasion, and had become the reason for which Brienne continued to vehemently scratch as they promptly made their way down the corridors of the Red Keep. 

“Lady Brienne!” Septa Roelle screeched once more; her hand coming to bat Brienne’s from her arm. She was making herself blotchy all around where skin was exposed; but the heat made her sweat, and the dress felt heavy against her body, and the stares people had been giving her made Brienne grow anxious. And she had no idea how else to diminish the feelings. 

For years she had dreaded being sent away to court; only for her father to reassure her every time a ship from the mainland made port on their island, that he had no intentions of sending her anywhere. She was his last child and his heir, he wanted her on Tarth. 

The familiar fear had still crept up her mind once the raven had arrived on her island, promptly summoning the Evenstar and his heir to court. Brienne hadn’t understood the reasons for the sudden bequest; best as she tried to understand politics and government, her mind was still better suited for remembering histories and songs. 

“Brienne, dear; please try and remain calm. The more you fidget the more heat your body creates, child. If you stop moving, the itch will cease. Try, at least.”

She would try, if only because her father had taken the pains of calling her out on it. Selwyn Tarth was a good father; definitely better than some of the other boy’s and girl’s fathers she had met around Tarth. He had never risen a hand to her; although she could sometimes tell it was not for lack of incentive, for she tended to disobey his and her Septa’s orders more often than not. He had always been kind, if not a little aloof. Brienne had never minded; it had only meant she was allowed more freedom around the castle to do as she pleased. He had always been there when it mattered most. When she had gotten sick from eating bad fish; when she had broken her nose as she had fallen off her horse. Brienne dearly loved her father, so she would try and stop moving if only to not embarrass him in front of the court. 

Because she would end up embarrassing herself, of that, she had no doubt. 

As tall as any boy of three and ten, and with a less than plain face; she lacked the graces of a young girl, and dreaded every second she was being forced to pretend to be one for the Lords and Ladies of Westeros. 

\-----

“Goodbye, Jaime.” 

The door slammed in his face, yet the grin he had been teasing her with was not so quick to disappear. 

The rush of adrenaline still dominated his body; his heart thumping fast, his breathing labored and coming out in small puffs. His hands even trembled as he rested them both against her shut doors. 

It was all part of the thrill. It had always been part of them; the fear of getting caught, the exhilaration of making something fast and prohibited good enough for both of them.

He had not meant to fuck her that morning. He had honestly just wanted to have a brief conversation with his sister; to try and get her to see reason behind the council's proposition of Joffrey’s eventual betrothal. 

He should have known better. He did not regret a single second. 

Court had been summoned; a fanfare of an excuse had been used to gather Lords and Ladies from all over the country. Another idiotic whim of another less than adequate King. Jaime would have thought that at three and twenty, he would have grown used to the idiocities which happened in and around the Red Keep; but he was still genuinely surprised at the ways and excuses Robert Baratheon found and used to his advantage. 

Court, on any given day was a tedious task. Standing guard as the King and Queen pretended to rule and be devoted to one another; when Jaime  _ knew _ his sister would much rather spend her nights between his sheets rather than in those of her drunken husband. It was all disgustingly superfluous. 

On that particular day, it would prove to be an even greater trial. For as Jaime carefully descended the stairs, the scent and taste of her still lingered in his mind and he knew they would remain there for the rest of the day. 

\-----

The throne room was large, but not large enough for Brienne to feel free enough to take a calming breath. For even if the walls were high and the space grand; she still felt suffocated under lace, and under stares. Stares of Lords and Ladies nodding with respect towards her and father. Their eyes always lingering a second more than they ought to upon her; sneers and slight quirks of what Brienne knew to be disguised disgust adorning their faces. 

Brienne shrunk her shoulders, trying to hide her frame; but was unable to maintain her shrunken form, as her Septa threw a reprimanding glance Brienne's way while the girl strolled pass her. Septa Roelle's ice cold eyes being a condemnation on their own, they forced Brienne to straighten to stand as tall as she could. 

They announced her father's name before the court and before the King with a fanfare which meant to impress and honor, yet only managed to unease Brienne even further. Brienne gulped as she saw her father give an unwavering bow; knowing she would have to give her own curtsey right after him. 

She heard her name being announced next, and trying to steady her already erratic breathing, she willed her body to move with all the grace she could conjure up -which wasn’t much. 

She felt her father’s gaze upon her, as well as the King and Queen’s. She wouldn’t trip; she couldn’t. 

Her legs trembled, her breath hitched, and her eyes closed without her consent as she tentatively moved her feet. 

She could hear her own heart beating; the flicker of the flames from the torches and candles; the snicker of the crowd. 

She did falter in her movement; with her feet tangling as she finished her greeting. Her blue eyes went wide with fear, but her body responded to her misstep and managed to hold itself upright, preventing her slight inconvenience from becoming anything grander. 

Her face reddened as she stood tall; her blue eyes being forced to look upon the King and Queen. They were impressive to behold; looking grand and regal, sitting on their respective thrones, looking down at the rest of the world and trying their hardest to not react to the mediocre display before them. 

The King looked bored enough, and unpreoccupied with the tall, awkward girl of the Stormlands. The Queen looked ethereal and beautiful. With green eyes so intimidating; Brienne’s face flushed once more as she came to recognize the scornful look upon the beautiful Queen, as one many times having been thrown her way by her own Septa. 

Next to the royal couple stood two of the Kingsguard Knights; dressed in shiny white armor which was quick to catch Brienne’s attention, becoming the best form of distraction the girl could have asked for. 

\-----

She looked as uncomfortable and awkward as he remembered her. She had grown in the three years since he had last and  _ only _ seen the heir of Tarth. A mere girl of six, with dirty rags and a dirty face; the only reason Jaime even remembered having met her, was because of the sheer anomaly the girl had been. Taller than a boy her age; with brusque features, freckles and the bluest eyes he had ever seen in a person. The young Lady of Tarth had been a child worth remembering. 

He had met her in breeches and with a dirty face. He now looked upon her in a dress; laced and trimmed and far too short for her tall, still un-delicate frame. 

“Are they sure she’s a girl?”

His sister had whispered; her smile filled with both mischief and amusement. Jaime would have normally followed her lead in insulting the homely looking girl; but for a reason he could not really comprehend, he had found he couldn't. 

His hesitancy to comment earned him a quizzical glance from his twin; emerald eyes still inviting him to jest. 

“Bloody beast is what she is.”

The King roared, not in his usual flamboyant voice, but with enough power behind it so that the Lord and Lady of Tarth, along with the royal small council, could be privy to hear the sneer. 

\-----

She held back her tears; couldn’t bear to look at her father and was glad when the Queen raised her voice above her husband's. A dismissal and a blatantly rehearsed speech. 

“You did well, Brienne.”

“But the King-”

“Is a proud man, but he is not the wisest; that is why he surrounds himself with his hand and the rest of his counsel. Words are wind my child, they can’t hurt you; not like a mace, not like a sword. Always remember that, Brienne.”

“No, they don't sting like a blade.” She sniffed.

Brienne remained pensive as they made their way across the hall and to their respective seats. She eyed her always disapproving Septa; the woman nursing a blank stare which Brienne could not interpret the meaning of, until she realized she had once again started to nervously scratch her neck. 

“You won’t tell Septa Roelle about it, will you?”

Selwyn chuckled, low and deep; a sound which more than anything else, brought comfort to Brienne. 

“No, child. You being here is punishment enough for the both of us.”

“I wouldn’t mind it so much if the dress wouldn’t  _ itch _ as much as it does.”

She scratched again; her blue eyes darting towards her still disapproving Septa. She had already presented herself in front of the King and Queen; why did it have to matter if her skin reddened from the contact? 

The presenting of the various Lords and Ladies which had arrived during the course of the day went on and on. The ceremony of it dragging into the early hours of the afternoon as the King stopped the procession more than once to give his sound opinion on various of the houses which he didn’t look favorably upon. Brienne thought she understood then, what her father had been trying to convey to her after the King's attempt at a jest at her expense. King Robert was brutal; he held nothing back, and it only got worse as the day progressed and as one of his squires kept refilling his cup with wine. 

The Queen ended up looking as bored as Brienne felt, and the Kingsguard Knights- the Kingsguard Knights continued to stand tall and vigilant. As Brienne stared at them once again (this time without the added whirlwind inside her mind), she came to realize she knew who both Knights were.

The one on the King’s right was Ser Barristan Selmy; the eldest of the guard and one of the most famous Knights to still live. He wasn’t young, and he had probably seen better fighting days, but he still looked majestic; donning his white cloak and sheathed sword. 

To the left and hovering close to the Queen, stood the infamous Kingslayer; the Queen’s own twin and one of the most famous swords of Westeros. He was also branded as a man without honor, an oathbreaker- and yet... Brienne held a memory in her mind: of a White Knight with a glistening sword; with an aura as golden as the sun and a grin as dangerous as a snake. The Knight from her dreams had golden hair and a fair face, stood strong and tall, was witty and kind, and owned green eyes so alike the Kingslayer’s, Brienne cursed her own slowness of mind. 

It had been Ser Jaime Lannister that morning around the armory; when she had been barely six and had decided to hide herself for all eternity so as to not be sent to court -to the exact place where she currently stood, looking as awkward as ever. 

He had been odd; kind, but not overtly so. He had made comments she hadn’t understood, yet had not made fun of her or her less than ideal situation. 

Brienne continued to observe the Knight -the Kingslayer; the most famous character of the current Kingsguard. For most of the remaining tedious procession, he continued in the same stance as when Brienne had first taken notice of him. His blank face stared ahead, almost unblinking, with his right hand resting comfortably atop of his sword; sword which Brienne suddenly came to realize, she had once held with her own mannish hands. 

What would her father think of said impertinence? What would her  _ Septa _ think? Brienne, who had only lived through nine namedays and yet had already broken every proprietary rule she had ever been taught. 

Her body was not made for dresses, no matter how hard she tried to make herself fit in the role of a young lady. She loved to ride, she loved to fight; she loved the feel of a tourney sword in her hand. So also loved songs and stories, and getting lost in fantastical tales where everything made sense and everything had purpose; stories where ladies all looked beautiful and men were all valiant knights. Because life, Brienne was slowly figuring out, was far more complex and less ideal. Girls were not all pretty, men were not all valiant, and Knights were not all honorable. 

The Kingslayer moved then, slowly, almost as if he were waking up from a dream. His sword hand briefly shaking; his eyes rapidly blinking around, squinting as they took in the warm light inside the room. It was nearing dusk, and everyone was growing restless -even the imposing Knights. 

The Kingslayer shifted; turning on his own axis in order to fully appreciate the extent of the room and it's occupants, as if he hadn't ever taken notice of any of it. He abruptly stopped his scavenging and turned his body towards the side of the room where Brienne and her father were seated; her face still red from the heat and turning an even deeper shade of crimson as she came to realize the Knight's eyes had landed on her. 

He squinted, as if trying to remember, as if questioning his own line of vision. Brienne felt scrutinized and shifted in place; diverting her own disconcerted eyes from his for a second, before curiosity won her over and had her blue orbs meeting his green ones from across the room. 

The Knight smirked. The gesture was followed by the giving of a soft, knowing nod delivered with respect instead of mockery; which Brienne could not understand, yet felt herself blush because of. Everyone called the man dishonorable, yet he had never once shown himself to be anything but courteous -even  _ kind _ , towards her. 

“Stop scowling, Lady Brienne. Honestly child, it's like you want to appear even more homely than you already are.”

Septa Roelle’s voice brought Brienne back to her reality, one simple and one she understood. She was the Evenstar’s heir. She was tall, plain, awkward and could not wait to get back to Tarth and into a pair of well-worn breeches.    
  
  
  



End file.
